


Guillermo's Nasty-Ass Vampire-Fucker Fantasies

by ghostoftonantzin



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Masturbation, Multi, Rape Fantasy, Sexual Fantasy, Stream of Consciousness, specific tags given by chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29451213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostoftonantzin/pseuds/ghostoftonantzin
Summary: Set in the universe of the ficScenes from an AllianceGuillermo was raised to believe vampires are horrific specters of unmitigated violence, devoid of morality. Of course, for some people, that's the whole appeal.(or, the top ten jerk-off fantasies of Guillermo de la Cruz, accomplished vampire slayer and closet vampirefucker)
Relationships: Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless, Guillermo de la Cruz/other vampires
Comments: 30
Kudos: 41





	1. 10. Bedroom Window Seduction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Interrobam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interrobam/gifts).



> This is actually a fic of a fic, set in the universe of Interrobam's masterpiece [Scenes from an Alliance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189814/chapters/58264711). 
> 
> Thanks also to [uv_duv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uv_duv/pseuds/uv_duv) and [poppy_plant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppy_plant/pseuds/poppy_plant) for also specifically goading me, and the Nandermo server for the encouragement.
> 
> Chapter warnings: this chapter contains hypnosis and consent under mind control.

Guillermo knows very well, and learned specifically from a young age, never to check out someone tapping on the window at night. Classic vampire trick. But he’s thinking, imagining if one of his cousins snuck out for the night and told him to keep an eye out, to let them back in, and he went to the window. He can hear them in the other room, right now, yelling and laughing while he’s trying to sleep. Or about to start trying to sleep, at least.

There’s a vampire there, of course. Dark eyed, floating like he’s suspended in water, a flash of fang at the corner of his mouth. Guillermo can’t resist.

He literally can’t, because as soon as he locks eyes with the gunpowder darkness of the vampire’s, he’s pulled under by his hypnotic gaze.

Again, literally, because he can feel his body open the latch and swing the window open, but it’s like someone else is pulling the strings.

The vampire smiles down at him. God, he’s so tall, his weight pinning Guillermo to the bed.

“You’ll be good, won’t you, little slayer?” he says, leaning in close, his hair falling over Guillermo’s face as he bares his sharp fangs in a cruel smile. “Because it would be awful if your family woke up, wouldn’t it? I wouldn’t want to leave any witnesses.”

That doesn’t make sense, his family would slaughter the vampire. No, the vampire puts his hand over his mouth, because if someone found them, they would be separated, and everyone would know that he let a vampire into his room and into his body and-

Okay, maybe not being caught by his family, who he’s going to have to make conversation with at the breakfast table tomorrow morning.

So Guillermo’s on the bed, he thinks, as his hand starts up again. In his mind, he’s arranged himself how the vampire wants him, legs spread and head lolled back. His hand reaches between his legs without his permission, slowly inserting a finger, then another. He’s numb, underwater, pulled by invisible strings, but his body doesn’t know that. He’s arching his back at the sensation and gasping without thinking. Even in the dark of his room, he can feel the vampire’s intense gaze on him.

“I’ve waited for this, you know. I knew I had to have you. Such a uptight little slayer, walking around with your head held high. I’ve wanted you so badly, with your-”

“With your-”

Guillermo can’t think of anything he has that anyone could want. Never mind.

The vampire is watching, his cock straining against the front of his trousers. Guillermo is pinned by his gaze like a butterfly to a board, not able to stop himself from moaning loudly. The vampire wants to hear him.

“My little slayer, moaning like a whore. I knew you would be like this, knew it when I saw you. You were just waiting for the right person to come along and put you in your place.” The vampire is smirking at him, eyes glinting with a cold cruelty in the darkness. Guillermo would fight, try to hide himself, but the vampire wants to see him, wants to see his body shake and tremble and fall apart.

Guillermo sobs and finally, finally, the vampire can’t wait any longer. He needs to have Guillermo, to _take_. He hisses in anticipation and digs his talons into the soft flesh of Guillermo’s hips eagerly as he lines himself up and presses in with eager urgency and-

Guillermo hears the footsteps in the hall and barely has time to turn over on his side and wipe his hand on his sheets.

“Guillermo! Hey, Guillermo! Are you asleep?” Someone is _shaking his shoulder_. Oh, fuck them.

“Yes,” he grumbles blearily, heart still racing.

“Do you want to play cards? We need another person. _Meeeemmoo_.”

“ _I’m trying to sleep_ ,” he says with as much force as he can muster, and pulls his blanket tighter around himself. Finally, his cousin stops shaking his shoulder and they retreat back to the other room, giggling and gossiping loudly. Leaving his door open.

He sighs and gets up to shut it. The mysterious dark-eyed vampire has dissipated, the fantasy popped like a blood bubble gurgling out of a staked vampire’s throat.

Guillermo crawls back into bed and shuts his eyes. He might as well just go to sleep now.


	2. 9. Vampire Training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: serious dubious consent/structurally-inflicted non-con, blood drinking, degradation

Guillermo has been good that night. The fantasy starts there, with Guillermo standing behind his master’s chair as he entertains guests for the evening.

He has a collar around his neck. It’s a safety precaution, as Vladislav says, because not every vampire has the self-control his master does, but the heavy leather chafes and chokes him a bit, sometimes. It’s a public reminder of who he belongs to. Guillermo reaches up and lays a hand across his throat, to try and imagine the weight.

He’s silent, and still, blushing underneath the leering gazes of his master’s guests as their dark, sadistic eyes roam over his body. They’re practically drooling at the opportunity to see his master’s pet up close, a real slayer. He’s a status object, he knows, purchased at a premium and taken out to as proof of Vlad’s power and influence. He’s almost romantic sometimes, the way he holds Guillermo like a lover when he’s drinking from him.

He fought it at first, glared back with his chin held high, but he’s good now, he knows that good little slayer sluts get rewarded, get to float on stupor when they’re getting fucked on their master’s cock.

And he wants to be good so bad, because when he’s bad the bites hurt, sharp short piercing pain and talons digging into the marks, leaving him breathless with the pain. He’d fucked up early on, tried to disobey his master when his master told him to get on his knees for another vampire, and had to feel the entire party’s eyes on him as he whimpered and cried and dripped blood from his wounds onto the floor, as the mighty slayer was reduced to tears and pleading.

But tonight, he’s been good. Vlad pulls him around his chair and sits Guillermo in his lap, holds him there. Guillermo focuses on the idea of cold hands pressing into his hips as he strokes himself. 

Each vampire takes a turn at his wrists, kneeling in front of him in a parody of supplication, because they’ve had to earn him. He’s a reward for them, too. Not just anyone gets a taste of his blood, the feeling of his body warm around them.

Guillermo is a very well-studied slayer. He’s read the literature of vampire attacks extensively. He’s read the stories of hapless adventurers who fall, unsuspecting, upon a nest of hungry vampires. Fed upon by scores of starving vampires, bitten over and over again until their bodies are drained dry.

He’d discovered, as he’d gotten older and been allowed into certain off-limits parts of the library, the more salacious details most casual accounts had left out. Such as how their bodies had been found, faces contorted with pleasure and semen staining the front of their trousers. 

He’s so fucking hard, in his fantasy and in his hand. In his mind he’s strung out, leaking without being touched, rubbing his hips against Vlad’s erection against his back as he drifts further and further into stupor with each prick of fangs against his wrist. He’s floating, disconnected from any rational thought. The feeling of having his blood drunk is bypassing pain completely and going straight to pleasure.

He can feel Vlad’s cock pressing into him, so easy, and he can’t stop himself from moaning, head lolling back helplessly. The vampire drinking from him glances at Guillermo’s erection, hard and desperate without even being touched, and traces a finger up the shaft. Guillermo bucks his hips and moans, body reacting just to that touch. Vlad hisses possessively from behind him, and the vampire flinches, and Guillermo whines because he’s just getting more and more tightly wound-

No- no, wait. His master wants to keep him a virgin, keep his blood pure for drinking. He will still fuck Guillermo sometimes, of course. Drinks from him and fucks him, pulling out to come on Guillermo’s back to leave Guillermo unspoiled and also so aching and hard, too strung out from stupor to do much more than rut miserably against the sheets and sob. But Guillermo only gets to come when his master says so. It’s not fear of pain that keeps him in line anymore, it never really was, but now it’s the fear that he’ll have to live on this edge of satisfaction forever, strung out without an end to the simmering pleasure.

Guillermo’s writhing in his lap, his master’s guests watching him and smirking at the miserable little bloodbag, desperate enough to come just from the sensation of fangs piercing his wrists.

His orgasm crashes over him like a wave, and the eyes on him gleam with cruel glee and unsuppressed mirth. He’s shuddering through it, untouched.

“Oh, you have it so well-trained!” someone exclaims.

“I barely had to do anything. He was so eager. Always begging and moaning for more.” Vlad says. It’s not cruel, coming from him, it’s meant as romantic, as the highest praise. Guillermo has molded himself to Vlad’s high expectations so well, surpassing his master’s wildest dreams for a blood slave. His master is stroking his hand along his soft cock, safe knowing that Guillermo can’t come again yet, but the sensation makes him squirm and whimper from overstimulation, and he has to press his hand over his mouth to keep from whimpering out loud.

His master’s hand on him is possessive and showman-like, showing him off for his guests, and the guests are rapt, fascinated, they want him so so badly, his stupid awkward body, and Guillermo’s cringing at the audacity of his own imagination at the same time as he’s spilling all over his stomach.

He’s not sure about the virgin idea. It’s good, but- he’ll have to workshop it a bit. Maybe his master lets other vampires have sex with Guillermo, but doesn’t let anyone come. Guillermo’s trying to hold on to the hazy post-orgasm feeling before the shame rushes in, but he knows by the way he’s thinking of the logistical difficulties of keeping other vampires from coming in him that that’s already a lost cause. Oh well. There’s always next time, probably.


	3. 8. Warlord Husband, Home from Campaign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings for mild dubious consent and public sex.

Guillermo has fallen asleep, waiting for his husband to come back from his campaign. He was trying to stay up to be there when he arrived, but his sleep schedule has slid back into its diurnal regularity while his husband has been away. It feels suitable; he always feels unmoored when his husband goes to subdue other nations.

He blinks awake when he hears the telltale thundering footsteps coming down the hall. The only thing he can see in the complete darkness of their room is the red glow of Nandor’s eyes, two dots of light in the doorway.

Nandor moves across the room like an arrow shot from a bow, his weight bearing down on Guillermo before- 

No, scrap that. He’s married to Nandor, he has better fodder than that.

Guillermo is standing in the throne room of the Temple of the Blood Devourers, assembled with various important political figures to await Nandor the Relentless’s return from a brief but brutal military campaign. There’s also some other vampires there, waiting with no small amount of nervousness. Nandor the Relentless is coming back from a campaign, of course, full of violent inertia and barely constrained bloodlust.

He had read once, in some book he’d borrowed from another slayer compound’s library, that Nandor rarely fed on campaign. The asceticism had made his heart flutter for reasons that he had dismissed as awe at the time. The thought surfaced again, unbidden, but this time it makes his cock pulse and twitch in his hand.

Nandor strides into the throne room with the momentum of a chariot accelerating to crush another driver underneath its wheels, armor streaked with blood and hair tangled underneath his helmet. His eyes catch the dim candlelight from the sconces and gleam, dark red and liquid as garnets. They sweep over the assembled vampires callously.

He catches sight of Guillermo, his husband, and loses all control.

Nandor lets out a roar, the same one he gave when attempting to slaughter Nadja and Laszlo at the party, only this time it’s raw need, the echo of his urge to pillage and conquer colliding with the cold absence of his husband, the memory of lonely nights in his tent with no one there to keep his cock warm-

Guillermo blushes, despite himself, and glances over towards Nandor’s coffin. It’s as silent and still as it ever is. He closes his eyes and sinks back into his fantasy, his hand speeding up.

Nandor is relentless, all his violent momentum concentrated on his human husband, who he thought of every morning on the campaign, one hand around his cock as he tried to fight off the rising need for Guillermo’s warm body underneath him. 

And Nandor would be lying there in his tent, aching for him, stroking himself though what he really wanted was _Guillermo_ , his husband, his one and only desire. The bloodlust couldn’t slate him anymore, the burning and conquering and crushing empires beneath his heel cold comfort for being apart from his husband, his _mate_.

Guillermo can hear the gasps and jeers from the assembled vampires, Tilda laughing and clapping her hands, but Nandor’s so cold and solid above him, his eyes boring into Guillermo’s with heartless intensity when he pulls back from kissing Guillermo long enough to let him breathe. His clothes are long gone, shredded with barely any regard for the rasp of talons against Guillermo’s skin, and it must be the blood welling up in droplets along the cuts that shred any last hope of getting through the ceremony with dignity intact.

Nandor’s beyond speaking, desperate and furious with it, deep growls echoing through Guillermo’s chest. He’s rubbing up against Guillermo’s body with no thoughts toward penetration, just of making sure Guillermo smells like him, smells like sex and hair oil and Nandor so no vampire who comes near him will mistake who Guillermo belongs to. 

Nandor’s in him, each thrust jolting Guillermo into the floor- Guillermo prepared himself ahead of time, yes, because he knew- he had been certain- because Nandor wanted him so badly, always wanted him so badly, it doesn’t matter that everyone he knows is watching his husband fuck him into the floor, Nandor needs him-

Nandor’s eyes are wild and unblinking above him, watching Guillermo like the sun beats down on the desert because he loves seeing him, loves how Guillermo moans and writhes underneath him, and Guillermo will do it, he’ll spread his legs in front of Daptes and God and everybody if it will make Nandor feel good.

And Nandor won’t stop in the throne room, he’ll take Guillermo home and shove him down onto their bed and curl over his body and bring him to all his meetings the next day, sitting Guillermo in his lap like he’s Nandor’s most valuable prize. Guillermo bites back a moan at that, teeth clenched as he breathes hard. He wants him, he wants him, he’s the most valuable thing Nandor owns.

Guillermo comes, hard, but he lays awake for a while after that, his heart heavy in his chest.


	4. 7. Exhibition Slaying Gone Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: violence, more non-con, degrading language

A lot of the time, exhibition slayings feel less like a fight and more like putting down a sick animal. Underfed, scavenging vampires held in whatever shack the town can spare until a professional slayer rolls up. Guillermo had just been passing through on his way home from another job when the pastor had come to him to ask him to take care of the vampire the village butcher had trapped in her cellar. 

It was another scavenger from Daptes, hair matted and eyes sunken, in the field where the village usually pens in their horses. No more than about ten minutes of spectacle, but the local innkeeper was so grateful he let Guillermo stay the night for free. 

Guillermo just wishes, sometimes, that… there was more of a challenge. He drops his head back against the headboard of his bed at the inn and closes his eyes. He thinks about a colosseum like they have at the capital, about a purple sky at dusk as the vampire they are bringing out in chains winces and snarls in the last shreds of reflected sunlight.

He’s dangerous, even in his shackles. The people holding him run for cover as soon as he’s unlocked, but the vampire knows, even in his rage, that Guillermo is his target.

So Guillermo brandishes his silver knuckles and his stakes, and he’s swinging and blocking as the vampire charges, fangs and talons bared and snapping.

He raises his arm to strike the fatal blow, and his foot slips in the sand on the arena, and the momentum of his swing makes him land on his stomach.

The vampire is on him immediately. He’s big and cold and pinning Guillermo with his weight and holding his arms in a vice grip. Guillermo’s trying to get leverage to push himself up, but his hands are scrabbling at the sand, unable to get a solid grip. He finally stops palming himself through his tunic and slides his hand around his cock.

He’s stroking himself as he imagines his heart racing as the vampire growls above him and sinks his fangs in to drink. He would be so big and so cold, and Guillermo can feel drops of blood spattering onto the sand below as the vampire takes long pulls from him. He’s fighting, he’s trying to push himself up and reach for his stakes, but he can’t, he can’t before the numbness and drowsiness take over.

Guillermo feels the vampire’s cock, hard against his back, but he can’t even struggle underneath the vampire’s weight as his clothes are shredded apart. The vampire pushes into him, and Guillermo can hear him growling at the sensation.

The walls of the inn are thin, or at least probably are because it’s an old house in the middle of nowhere. Guillermo’s muffling gasps into his hand as he strokes himself. He should be struggling, but it’s too late to fight. He can hear the audience gasping, the whole arena watching what’s happening to him with fear, watching their evening entertainment go horribly, horribly wrong. He can feel their horror and the thought that this will echo through the capitol tomorrow makes his insides twist with shame, at the thought of everyone seeing him moaning and whimpering. But he’s limp beneath the vampire’s weight, his cheek pushed into the ground, sand still radiating warmth absorbed from the sun.

And he’s coming, involuntarily, sobbing underneath the vampire, overwhelmed from the stretch inside of him and the big hands raking over his body, leaving scratches that will flush red in the bath, later, when he has to wash all of this off with shaking hands.

Guillermo imagines slumping boneless into the sand as someone (several someones, a lot of people) finally pulls the vampire off of him and hearing the manic, desperate growls as they put the shackles back. He imagines how desperate the vampire would be to sink back into him, to finish inside him, groaning with the need to bring him to completion.

He’s safe now, then, but as he rolls over onto his side he can feel the sand stinging in his cuts and the scratches and marks the vampire has left all along his back, in the bite marks on his neck. The bite is deep and raw, it’s going to leave a scar, and every vampire he comes across is going to see his neck and know that he was claimed, _you slut, you cheap slayer whore_ and he’s coming apart in this shaky wooden bed in this little inn.

The old bedframe creaks and ominously as Guillermo gets up to grab something to wipe himself off with. Guillermo sighs. Some parts of being a slayer are better than others.


	5. 6. Orgy, without Husband

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings for non-con and blood drinking.

Xiomara has promised to come back to the inn and get Guillermo when the nest starts showing signs of activity. That gives Guillermo, by his estimate, about an hour to blow off some steam. He leaves the window open so he can see her signal; one lit match for each vampire active. He sits back against the headboard of his bed. The inn used to be a grand old mansion, owned by a woman rumored to be a vampire, funny enough. Guillermo lets his mind drift as he sinks into a well-worn fantasy.

The empress, Empress Tilda of the Unholy Revenant Empire of Daptes, would probably get to have him first, Guillermo knows. Expensive sex pets, freshly bought and brought to Daptes as an offering to be entertainment at an orgy, would get handed off to the empress to do the honors.

He is basing this off of speculation, of course. Not a lot of humans who pass through vampire societies and survive are willing to talk about the experience. But Guillermo’s learned to read between the lines.

The whole orgy, glittering and chattering around in some high-ceilinged ballroom, columns and tiles like those in the foyer of the mansion, stops dead as he enters. Or rather, the chatter turns to delighted giggles and shrieks. He’s naked, arms bound behind his back, he thinks, then revises it to a short tunic. It’s- the idea of being fully exposed immediately is a little intense.

But he’s brought up to the front of the room and made to stand in front of some sort of platform. Empress Tilda circles around him, inspecting him, announcing his virginity to the crowd. Then she’s on him like an eagle swooping to catch a fish, only it’s not claws but talons sinking into his hips as he’s bent over the platform. This is all a performance, of course. He would be torn apart if he were left a virgin, and their supreme leader always gets first taste.

Guillermo has never seen the Empress’ face- obviously, even Guillermo’s not foolish enough to think he would survive an encounter. But it’s also hard to find depictions of her. The best known image, a propaganda piece for the empire, depicts her face as blank, a representation of her unholy glory. It had creeped the hell out of Guillermo when he was younger.

But he can conjure up a cruel, gleeful smile and the sharp, bony hands digging into his hips hard enough to draw blood. And then, Tilda bites him without any warning on his part or any planning on her part.

She hadn’t meant to, Guillermo imagines, because her constituents would prefer if he struggled- yes, they want him thrashing and whimpering against their hold, at least a bit- but the droplets of blood welling up from underneath her nails means she needs her fangs in his virgin neck, immediately.

Guillermo’s struggling harder now, trying to get out of her grip before the stupor sets in, but soon enough he’s gone limp beneath her. Tilda uses this as an opportunity to shift his hips up so she can drive in deeper and oh-that’s a better angle, it would be, he would feel so full and dizzy and good with it, and he would shudder helplessly through his orgasm.

She leaves him there and lets the crowd of vampires swarm over him. He rolls that image around in his mind as he thumbs the head of his cock, as taloned hands grip his arms and back as they pull him down from the platform. They’re fascinated, desperate to touch, because he’s this evening’s main attraction.

Vampires are crowded around him, and his perspective swings, suddenly, dizzyingly, to a bird’s-eye view of him on the ground, hands lunging towards him. And then they close over him, hands grabbing at him, talons digging into any fold of flesh they can reach. The jostling is overwhelming, and Guillermo has to blink to clear his eyes, his hand pausing.

“Six at a time, if you count his hands,” he conjures the voice in his head, dividing him up into pieces to be used. Six- four. He’d be too numb with stupor to use his hands, not that they wouldn’t try, holding his hands against their bodies, raking their talons down his legs to leave shallow scratches.

He casts around in his mind for a couple. Laszlo Cravensworth and Nadja, they’ll do. Nadja rides him while holding his- his tits, Guillermo thinks, biting his tongue, his tits together for Laszlo to fuck. Someone else is in his mouth, someone else is fucking him- more than he’s already being fucked by everyone else, because every part of his body is being used, is going to be in use for the night.

Guillermo imagines his exhaustion, imagines himself on hands and knees as a broad hand tilts his chin up. He looks into the eyes of Vladislav the Poker. Or at them, because Vlad is looking at something behind Guillermo. Someone’s pressing into him, and he can’t turn his head to look, can’t move in any way they don’t want him to, but he knows it’s Nandor the Relentless. 

He’s trying his best to give Vlad the proper attention he deserves, but Nandor’s hard thrusts mean the best he can do is relax his throat and try not to choke on Vlad’s length. Guillermo is moaning in his fantasy already, but Nandor slides a hand around Guillermo’s cock in a tight grip and strokes him, trying to make him whimper and moan, and Vlad tightens his grip on Guillermo’s hair with the sensation. They’re not so much fucking him as competing with each other, and Guillermo is between them, trying his hardest to stay up over shaking knees.

“Empress Tilda told me this one is mine to keep,” Vlad says, and Nandor’s ensuing growl echoes through Guillermo’s body. He’s never been able to figure out a way to phrase that to make it not sound like they’re fighting over a toy. Oh, a _toy_ ,though, Guillermo is Vlad’s toy now, and he knows if he were standing the thought would be enough to make his knees buckle.

“When I’m away on campaign, you may borrow him,” Vlad says, his voice cold and dismissive, like he’s discussing a book or a sword.

Guillermo turns over those words in his mind like he’s rubbing his thumb against a smooth stone held against his palm, focusing on the sensation. When I’m away on campaign, you may borrow him. When I’m away on campaign, you may borrow him. When I’m away on campaign, you can borrow him. When I’m on campaign have him when I’m on campaign you can use him you can use him you can use him you can—until he’s jerking and his hips are arching off the bed with the orgasm he’s wrenched out of himself.

He opens his eyes and sees a small flicker of flame from outside the gate. Fuck, has he already missed a match? How long has she been signaling him? He scrambles to find a cloth to wipe himself off with. At least the room was dark; he doesn’t think Xiomara will let him live it down if she caught him masturbating during a mission.


	6. A Nandor Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No content warnings for this chapter.

Nandor does not know he is inside a dream at the time, because how is he supposed to know it is not reality? He is sitting in his study, which exists in his house, and he is going through his papers, which he also has in abundance. And his husband comes in and idles in the doorway with his unreadable dark eyes, which he has a tendency to do, and his husband has not given him any indication of why he requires Nandor’s attention so urgently, which he also has a tendency to do.

But his husband does not usually come so close. He comes close, of course, penetrating far too deep into Nandor’s designated personal boundaries and ability to control himself. But he is not usually close enough to rest his hands on Nandor’s shoulders and swing a leg over Nandor’s lap.

His human husband’s eyes are flashing with mischief like asterism in a sapphire, and the smile he is giving Nandor makes them gleam even moreso than usual. He looks incredibly pleased with himself as he runs his hands through the hair on Nandor’s bare chest. Nandor can see his husband’s nude form at the edge of his vision, but he cannot seem to tear his pupils away from his husband’s face, watching him take such obvious pleasure in the sight of Nandor’s body.

Guillermo lets out a small, delighted-sounding sigh, and his heart beats out a steady rhythm in his chest. Nandor knows, because he can feel the same rhythm pulsing in his own chest as well. He is unable to extricate himself, to erect his personal boundaries again, because they are pressed against one another like a sword in its sheath, a dagger in a wound, plant roots in soil like his husband has intertwined himself inside of Nandor, too late to pull him out without removing parts of Nandor with him. 

Nandor can see the delicious way the flesh of Guillermo’s thighs settles over his calves as he drops his hips to take Nandor’s cock. He is facing away from Nandor, straddling Nandor’s supine form, taking his pleasure. Nandor cannot see his expression, but he can imagine the delighted smirk and the little gasping moans, because he is enjoying himself so thoroughly, appreciating the manner in which Nandor lights him up inside.

He is so spoiled and selfish and _luscious_ , bouncing on Nandor’s cock, denying Nandor the sight of his face flushed and open. Nandor is gripping his human’s hips, his fingers sliding through the generous folds like sand slipping through his fingers, intangible and ungraspable, no injury or scars or bloodshed from the drag of Nandor’s hands over his body, just slipping and reforming under Nandor’s talons. 

His husband is not unlike stepping into a warm bathing pool, like resting in the water after a long journey, an easy contentment and the unspooling pleasure of sore muscles reaching release. If Guillermo were not facing away from him, he would be able to see Nandor’s face as open as a wound.

Guillermo is moaning and arching his back off the bed, arms wrapped around Nandor’s neck, and Nandor is a wine-bottle being poured out, his balance shifting with every thrust, and he is the wine-bearer and Guillermo is the glass and holding the glass, pouring himself into his husband until he can feel like nothing remains, until he is hollow and crystalline.

He is pushing his husband harder into the bed with each thrust, but Guillermo simply clutches at him tighter instead of crying and cringing away like he should, like he doesn’t know how badly Nandor will consume him. Nandor is gifted with a transcendent moment where this whole procedure does not feel like devastating a holy temple.

His husband is whispering in his ear phrases that flow through his mind like the matrimonial wine, the words seeping through his fingers no matter how firmly he tries to grasp on to them, leaving only their sweetness as residue. He wants to know, he wants to lay these words out like his rings in their jewelry box, locked away from anything that could shatter this moment.

Guillermo is writhing and whimpering and glassy-eyed with pleasure beneath him, his body bathed in an impossible sunlight, the both of them, its rays warming his husband’s complexion, or maybe his husband is the sun, yes, that is it, he carried the sunlight into his home with his arrival and is finally pouring out Nandor’s share, and Nandor is- is- it is luminous, it’s too bright, he is being pulled under, he is-

Waking up with a start in his coffin, shuddering through the last throes of an orgasm. Lying there in the darkness in a groggy haze, no more rested than he was when he laid down that morning.

This was getting ridiculous. He could not even be free of the vexations of his human husband during his resting hours, during which he needed to recuperate from the various ways his husband nettled and bewitched him during all those other, non-resting, hours. Now he would need to change his armor, as well.


	7. 5. Slaying Mission Gone Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings for non-con, non-consensual blood-drinking, victim blaming, and degrading language.

Guillermo’s already good, talented in a way that makes his family both incredibly proud and incredibly worried. But talent doesn’t make up for bad intel, and he’d come into this house thinking he would have to face one vampire, not a nest.

He slumps against the wall and tries to catch his breath. The body of a massive vampire lays unmoving on the floor next to him, a stake through both the heart and throat, for good measure. He knows if he goes out to face the townspeople now, he’s going to be too keyed up to avoid an accidental staking if someone surprises him. 

He takes another deep breath. She had caught him by surprise as he was conducting a final sweep of the second floor of this decaying, abandoned building. Those fangs had been so close to his throat…

He imagines being caught, surprised in a darkness he hadn’t prepared for. The teeth sink deep into his throat, and struggling and all the strategies he’s learned to buy himself more time don’t mean anything because the vampire’s got him by the arms, pinning him to the wall, and he’s big, so much bigger and stronger than Guillermo, and Guillermo can fight off the effects of a bite, but he can’t escape them, and soon enough he feels himself going under.

He palms himself through his pants, tentatively. He can’t keep thinking about this. It was bad enough when it was just theoretical, fantasizing about stories he’d read.

He imagines his limbs going sluggish, his body finally slumping against the wall. They’re in complete darkness, not even the light of the moon to see his attacker by, but the hands that take their time undressing him are big and cold, and his legs have to spread even wider to accommodate the muscular thigh that slides between them.

The vampire can see him just fine, though, and he’s stripping him slowly like he’s unwrapping a present, savoring having a slayer as his thrall.

Guillermo doesn’t have to worry about the eyes scrutinizing him, doesn’t have to concern himself with what’s going to happen to him, because it’s going to happen anyway. The vampire is silent, keeping his identity from Guillermo. He’ll have no way of tracking the vampire down, then, his best bet to keep quiet about what happened to him with no way of getting vengeance.

The vampire would kiss him then, rough, careless with his fangs, nicking Guillermo’s lips. Guillermo would moan at the feeling, too numbed from the effects of the stupor to stop himself.

Guillermo has gone limp, the cold body pressing him against the rough wooden wall the only thing keeping him upright. The vampire is holding him up, Guillermo’s feet not even touching the floor. Cold hands rearrange his pliant limbs like he’s no more than a doll. Guillermo tries to relax his body, let the tension leave his legs and shoulders to see what it would be like to let himself fall apart that way.

The vampire presses into him, pressing Guillermo further into the wall. The building is old and the wooden paneling makes ominous creaking noises with every movement, but that doesn’t stop the vampire from thrusting into him without any regard for the structural integrity of either the building or Guillermo’s body. He could hurt Guillermo very badly, he probably already is, Guillermo thinks, panting, leaving bruises on his hips marking his fingers and palms.

Guillermo is whining, soft and needy as he strokes himself, and the vampire would grip his hips harder at that, thrust harder and grin against Guillermo’s slack mouth, delighted at this little slayer’s forced obedience.

The vampire bites Guillermo again, he can’t help himself. He thinks Guillermo looks so delicious like this, with his head lolling to the side because he can’t hold it upright, and Guillermo lets his head fall to his shoulder, feels the stretch in his neck where the fangs would pierce.

He’s going to have scars, other vampires saying _You’re such a slut, aren’t you? Letting yourself get bitten like that_ like a permanent mark of his failure, and those other vampires will know, that if they can get their fangs in him he can open up for them so well, they’ll see those marks and have him pinned down any way they can just so he can be good for them. So they can put the slayer in his place, so he can be- he can be- their _whore_ and his eyes open of their own accord as he’s coming in his hand like he’s been struck by lightning.

The moon comes out from behind a cloud, and the light coming through the window creates a cross on the floor through the bars on the window. It feels like an accusation. He still has to go back to the town and get all the praise and thanks for taking care of their vampire problem.


	8. 4. Bought at Slayer Market

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for consent rendered meaningless and sexual slavery.
> 
> Folks, we are now entering... the Nandorzone.

Guillermo has been captured by a vampire slave trader, which is the hardest mental pitfall to get over, because he’s pretty sure his family would tear through the entire continent’s slayer trade to get him back if that happened. But anyway. Guillermo is standing in the soft moonlight in the pop-up slayer marketplace, naked with his hands cuffed behind his back. He doesn’t know if he wants one of the many vampires passing through to stop in front of him.

Nandor the Relentless is there, standing before him, expression unreadable in the dim moonlight. He’s looking to make a purchase. The seller is telling him the price, Guillermo’s measurements and lineage and virginity, and offering to give him a taste to prove it.

Nandor removes a knife from his belt, bypassing the one offered by the seller, and makes a small slit on Guillermo’s thumb. He presses his lips to the cut and flicks his tongue over the wound. His eyes glow gold and he takes a sharp intake of breath at the taste. Nandor’s eyes are so bright as he drinks from Guillermo’s wrist, fangs pressed in deep to make sure not to waste a drop- 

No, wait. He just looks at Guillermo, barely looks him over, and turns to the seller and says “I will take him.”

And the seller is trying to say that he’s very expensive, and for _that_ , he really isn’t worth the price, but Nandor the Relentless cuts him off with one cold gesture and just repeats: “I will take him.” with the finality of the drop of a guillotine blade. He turns to Guillermo and looks him over once again with the intensity of a mountain lion eyeing its prey, savoring the sight of Guillermo’s body.

Guillermo flips over from where he was grinding slowly against his bed and reaches under his tunic to take himself in hand. He has time tonight, the compound pretty quiet for once.

They’re standing in the doorway of what must be Guillermo’s room. It’s well-furnished and dominated by a large bed hung with thick drapes. Next to him, Nandor is very still, less a wound spring than a mountain lion waiting patiently for its prey to walk into its jaws. Guillermo is the best slayer of his generation, but he still feels weak, twitchy, fragile next to him. He knows, on some level, that he could kill Nandor by opening a curtain, but he feels like a small moon, caught in Nandor the Relentless’s gravitational orbit.

He traces a finger down the back of Guillermo’s neck, resting a talon there lightly.

“I could kill you, you know.” Guillermo’s voice doesn’t even shake, though he’s facing down a lifetime under this vampire’s control, bending to his every whim with no regard for Guillermo’s wishes or desires.

“You could try.” Guillermo hears from behind him. He can hear the cruelty and the lust, and he feels Nandor’s hair brush against his cheek as he leans in close. “But by the time I am done breaking you in, you won’t even be wanting to try.”

“I will train you so well, my little slayer bedslave. You will be wanting to crave my cock, and you are going to whine every time I leave you empty. You will never want for anything, because all you will want is to be fucked.” The talon digs in. “And that, I will give to you in plentiful supply.”

Guillermo’s knees buckle in his mind at that, and he whimpers as he forces himself to slow his hand. He half expects his new master to drag him onto his new bed, but Nandor just lays him out on the floor.

“Do you think you have earned a fucking on the bed yet? Yes? No, you are wrong. You have to prove yourself first. The bed comes last.” Oh god, Guillermo thinks, Nandor is going to fuck him over every surface in his house. That’s at least two places in each room. If Nandor has twenty rooms in his house, that’s at least forty times Guillermo’s going to get fucked. How many times can he fuck Guillermo in a day? Like eight maybe, so that’s- he’s not going to get distracted.

The tile is cool underneath his hands and his knees. Nandor will get carpets for them, in the future, so Guillermo doesn’t have to walk across cold floors– yes, after he’s proved himself, after he’s proved himself worthy. Nandor hasn’t bitten him yet, hasn’t started creating the progression of marks along his body that will turn him indelibly into Nandor’s possession, but he’s fucking him hard, not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough that Guillermo knows he’s going to take what Nandor gives him, how he wants to give it to him. Guillermo wants it, he wants it so bad.

And they’re on the bed, after- how many times did Guillermo decide? Like forty? That would take, if they have sex five times a day- it would take a week, Guillermo decides. It’s a week later. Guillermo wouldn’t be keeping his voice down like he is now, muffling his groans into his hand, he would be arching his back and mewling wantonly, exhausted from his master’s attentions but secure in his master’s affections.

Nandor is holding him, letting him catch his breath, tracing his thumb over the shell of Guillermo’s ear. He could adorn Guillermo however he wants, bejeweled earrings and heavy rings and light, sheer tunics to show everyone what Nandor owns. Like a stone centered on his master’s favorite ring, audaciously expensive and beloved.

And this would be the beginning of the line, Guillermo thinks, gasping into his hand, because his master would want to break him until he belonged to him entirely. Nandor could think of no greater glory than bringing his sex pet down from an illustrious slayer to a moaning slut, like boiling off the water until nothing but the concentrate remained. 

Guillermo’s hips are thrusting up into the grip of his fist, now, teeth grinding hard enough to practically crack them in an effort to muffle himself. Nandor would burnish his rough edges until he was as polished as a garnet destined to be set in its base, turn him into a helpless _thing_ , press into him wherever and in front of whoever he wanted, curl his fingers into him just to see him moan and shake and fall apart for master, so everyone would know how good master is to him, just like Guillermo is moaning and shaking and falling apart now, coming so hard his calves are cramping.

It takes him a long moment to catch his breath. He feels almost weightless, face flushed against the cold air of the room. It can’t last, of course. His come is starting to cool on his stomach and his calf is, unfortunately, still doing its best to cramp up on him.

Guillermo rolls over to the edge of his bed. He’ll need to stretch this one out.


	9. 3. Warlord’s Personal Sex Pet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings for coerced consent and non-con.

He runs out of his house, without time to even put his shoes on. Around him, the village is burning, smoke choking the air. As his eyes adjust to the darkness and the smog, though, he can see the fires aren’t raging out of control. There’s a pattern to the burning, a strategy there that floods his hindbrain with fear before his mind even recalls the name.

_Nandor the Relentless_. It’s enough to send a flash of ice spiking up his spine.

As soon as he thinks it, there’s a man on horseback resolving out of the smoke. Before Guillermo can even see his face, he knows.

Nandor’s eyes are hidden by the shadow of his helmet, his expression unreadable. His mouth wears a grimace, hidden by the iron fang armor that Guillermo saw in a woodblock cutting once, the image that his tia says gave her nightmares as a child. Armor meant to bite hard enough to crush bone.

He’s looking at Guillermo standing there in the ruins, or soon-to-be-ruins of his village. And then Guillermo’s on horseback, tucked up against Nandor’s chest as they ride through the fire and the devastation. Guillermo pauses for a second, trying to decide whether hearing the screams of the burning village is too much of a mood-killer.

He skips to the tent. It’s spartan, surprisingly bare aside from weaponry, a desk covered in maps, and of course, the coffin. Guillermo doesn’t know if that’s true or not, but something about Nandor, the high commander, forgoing any sort of luxury makes him weak-kneed.

Nandor sets him down on the ground. Dumps him, really, so Guillermo has to catch himself on his hands and knees.

“Tell me,” Nandor says, and imagining his deep voice makes Guillermo’s cock twitch in his hand, “why I should let you live.” He’s still fully armored and armed, standing in this stark tent like something unreal, like a nightmare tearing its way into the real world.

Guillermo knows the answer he needs to give. He’s a virgin, he’s been taken for a meal, he opens the front of Nandor’s armor with shaking hands. Nandor is already hard, and so cold against the back of his throat. Guillermo needs to prove his worth, he’s choking and gagging with Nandor’s huge hand on the back of his head, pushing him down. He can’t breathe, he can’t think, it’s just his face resting against Nandor’s dark curls and Nandor’s cold weight filling his mouth.

Nandor doesn’t come, just pushes Guillermo off of him and lifts him by the shoulders, leaving Guillermo’s feet dangling helplessly off the ground. He sees Nandor’s eyes and knows- the bite hurts anyway, the numbness echoing slowly through his body. It’s brutal and fast, Nandor’s talons digging into his shoulders like Guillermo is a sword on Nandor’s belt, and Nandor intends to wield him. 

Nandor lays back on the lid of his coffin and places Guillermo over his hips. He’s going to make Guillermo fuck himself on Nandor’s cock, make Guillermo sink down on shaky legs and do all of the work. Nandor’s the one who holds the power of empire in his hands here, Guillermo just trying to desperately moan and grind hard enough to make Nandor want to let him live past the night.

Guillermo can barely hold himself upright, woozy from the stupor and the feeling of Nandor’s cock, filling him up, and Nandor so kindly decides to start thrusting, sending sharp pleasure through Guillermo’s dizzy mind.

Guillermo’s fisting himself in his hand hard and fast now, trying to push himself over the edge. He just needs- he just needs-

Nandor digs his hands into Guillermo’s hips, while outside the fantasy Guillermo lets the nails of one hand bite into the same flesh, and he watches him, growling low in his chest. He’s going to keep him, he had no intention of letting him burn, he knew from the moment he saw him, he’s growling in his ear about- Guillermo’s his prize, his spoils, the focus point of the simmering chaos and destruction that Nandor can only let burn in controlled gasps, now burning out of control. Guillermo is staring down the sun, a helpless vessel for Nandor’s full rage and glory, his destruction already seeping through Guillermo’s veins.

Guillermo comes before he can in his fantasy, the kind of orgasm that starts at the soles of his feet and leaves his calves cramping. He digs his nails in tighter and rides it out, holding on to the intensity of Nandor’s gaze, the flash of fangs as both a threat and a benediction.


End file.
